The van came to a screeching halt next to an unfinished, in
the middle-of-construction building. The doors flew open as
the tired passengers tumbled out. For a moment, all was
silent, then the driver broke the trance and in a few words
of broken English, asked the adult family members to help him
lug out the suitcases from the back of the van. Each one took
as much as he could handle, while the driver spurred them on,
eager to be on his way. His time was precious; he had to
return to his spot at Ben Gurion airport to earn his
livelihood. As the last parcel was removed and dumped on the
sidewalk, he slammed the door shut and waited for his
payment. The father handed over the money with a tip
included. The driver deftly counted the green bills and gave
a huge smile with a suitable blessing of "Yishuv tov!"
and was on his way.
At times, the pains of moving to a new country are
unbearable, but coming to Eretz Yisroel makes every struggle
and hardship seem all the more worthwhile for earning and
deserving the merit of residing in the Promised Land. It is
the only place, they say, where every step one takes adds
credit to one's account.
All eyes turned upwards to the fourth floor, their new home.
The shutters were closed. They did not know what awaited
them. Family and friends had arranged their temporary lodging
until their apartment, purchased on plan, would be ready for
occupancy.
The head of the family made his way down the path, followed
by the mother and children. Bogged down with suitcases, boxes
and whatnot, the going was very slow. Finally, Dovie broke
the silence and said, "Ma, is this our new home?"
The response was a mixture of crying and laughter in one, as
Ma smiled through her tears, "Yes, sweetie, we've arrived
home, at last."
Dovie was too curious to contemplate his mother's reaction
and so his huge brown eyes continued to dart from the clear,
bright blue skies to the plentiful reddish sand in every
front yard. He dropped his bag and ran to touch and feel it.
In seconds, he was covered from head to toe with sand.
"Oh, no!' Tova, his mother exclaimed. She took a deep breath
as she tried to extricate him from his new sandbox but her
efforts were futile. The energetic four-year-old finally had
an opportunity to release all the energy that had accumulated
after having been cooped up in a silver eagle for so many
hours.
The plane ride had been pretty exciting, as the stewardesses
joined the family celebration of Dovie's fourth birthday. It
had been quite a scene. They brought some balloons and nearby
passengers clapped their hands and sang along. Dovie's short
red payos peeking out of his blue kipa danced
along as he jumped up and down in his seat.
A grandmotherly-looking woman handed him a pink candy and
then seeing how his siblings looked on enviously, handed the
birthday boy the whole packet (with a reliable
hechsher, they ascertained) to distribute as his
birthday treat. He was the star of the show.
*
Yisroel and Tova Segal climbed the stairs, followed by their
precious crew. Four flights of steps, no elevator, quite an
exercise, especially when one's hands are laden with heavy
luggage. They finally reached Door No. 23. The welcome signs
plastered all over definitely made a difference.
Dovie and his brothers dashed for the kitchen table, which
was set with a nutritious meal. Tova's eyes brimmed with
tears of gratitude for the goodness of such wonderful friends
and neighbors. There were chairs, tables, beds and all the
basic staples of a home. More squeals of joy emanated from
the inner rooms and Tova followed her ears to find the kids
preoccupied with some games.
"How very thoughtful of them. This will definitely make the
next few weeks of summer vacation that much easier," she
thought, wondering how long it would take before her lift
arrived.
With a sigh of relief, she turned to look at the pile of bags
and stuff. She had been very organized, numbering every
recepticle and listing its contents in her "Aliya
diary/notebook." She reverted to her old self and began
firing instructions as to who should put what where.
Within a week, the house began to look homey. Enough, that
is, until her shipment arrived. Imagining the family having
to travel by sea gave her another reason to be thankful for
the smooth settling process.
The vast differences in tastes, mentality and schedule, which
she soon discovered, did not deter her optimism. She enjoyed
glancing at her children from the window, playing outside
with the neighborhood children for a good part of the day,
without her constant supervision. They were even coming home
each time with an extended Hebrew vocabulary, which they
practiced on her, accent and all.
One cool autumn morning, Tova hurried into the kitchen, only
to come to a complete standstill upon seeing the sudsy water
covering the kitchen floor. The washing machine was the
obvious culprit. She tried to collect the water into a pail
with a rubber sponja stick and rag, and alternatively,
with a stick and dust pan, yet the puddle did not seem to get
any smaller. Frantically, she knocked on her neighbor's door,
hoping she would have a better solution to this dilemma.
Ahuva, Tova's benevolent neighbor, nodded her head in
understanding and quickly accompanied her neighbor. Armed
with her own sponja stick, she brought along a paint
scraper. Tova's brow furrowed anxiously, hoping that Ahuva
had understood her broken sentences.
Half an hour later, the tired pair sat down in the nearly dry
kitchen to drink a well-earned cup of coffee. Tova's features
relaxed as she made a mental note of the new lesson she had
learned that day. Ahuva, with the assistance of the paint
scraper, had deftly lifted up the cover to the water
drainpipe in the bathroom which Tova had not even noticed,
and together, they had shoved the water down the hole,
sparing her a needless backache from collecting and squeezing
all the water.
Ahuva contacted Chesky the fix-it-man for emergency fixing.
He promised to come at the first available slot.
Unfortunately, that materialized only thirty-six hours later.
Tova did not complain; she had come to terms with the term
"savlanut," as the pill she had to swallow before any
operation is executed to its fullest. But the moment Chesky
walked in, she knew her machine was in good hands. His
demeanor depicted authority, dependibility and gentility, the
latter trait not generally found in blue collar workers back
home.
Chesky quietly asked for the source of the problem. She led
him to the washing machine on the laundry porch but was
astounded when he refused to follow her steps and remained
behind. She grew flustered and could not fathom what was
wrong.
He pointed to the door and said, "All you have to do is buy a
kosher mezuza, hang it up and your machine will start
working."
He picked up his tool case and headed for the door.
"Wait," she said. She thought perhaps it would be wiser for
her to ask Ahuva to serve as translator. There must have been
a misunderstanding.
In a minimum of words, Ahuva and Chesky exchanged the update
of the situation and then he was gone. No fee charged for the
visit...
Ahuva smiled and repeated Chesky's instructions and promise.
"I can vouch that whatever he says is usually true. He is a
very special man."
Within a few hours, Yisroel had affixed a brand new
mehudar mezuza upon the doorpost of the laundry
porch.
Tova slowly but surely approached the washing machine,
apprehensive and curious. It was truly amazing how the
machine started, filled with water, giving no indication of
any problem whatsoever. She immediately called Chesky to fill
him in on the news.
Chesky did not say, "I told you so." He calmly wished Tova
all the best, leaving a bewildered woman on the other end of
the line, altogether amazed at his character and skill. He
sure was an expert fix-it man, or rather, general
diagnostician.
Another story to add to her Aliya diary/notebook, which she
titled, "Only in Israel!"
